


Trance

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Exploitation of Trauma, Hypnotism, M/M, Unethical Therapist Jack, bad stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 12:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12794829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Rhys has been going to a hypnotherapist to deal with the trauma following an accident. Things are going well...until he begins to have some strange dreams.





	Trance

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic I never uploaded! Please heed the warnings but otherwise enjoy! :)

Rhys had just finished up his fourth weekly session with his hypnotherapist and….honestly, he was  _really_ surprised by how much it was helping him.

Rhys felt like he owed his old doctor a beer for suggesting it, especially when Rhys’ had laughed unexpectedly at the mere suggestion, because—really—it’d sounded pretty ridiculous at the time, like using crystals or footpads to magically zap away a person’s trauma. But considering how he was  _still_  waking up in the middle of the night screaming and crying and reaching for the rounded stump where his arm used to be despite the medication and current therapies he was using, he decided to give it a try.

And, well,  _jeez_. Mr. Lawrence was either a miracle worker or a really really good con artist, because Rhys was feeling the best that he had in  _months_. Sure, he still had the occasional panic attack, and the sounds of blaring horns and screeching tires still made his heart race and tears prick at the corner of his eyes, but he was actually getting a full eight hours of sleep more often than not, and his instinctual response to the aforementioned stimuli wasn’t as bad as it had been before the couple of weeks he’d spent with Mr. Lawrence.

It was strange, though. Rhys didn’t exactly find Mr. Lawrence  _trustworthy_ , at least, not in the same way that he felt about his physician and previous therapists. There was this weird kind of almost…camaraderie, about when they had their sessions together. Mr. Lawrence spoke to him more like they were out at a bar getting beers together, rather than stuck up in some office in sprawling strip mall. He called Rhys “kiddo” and “buddy” and “cupcake” like they were friends rather than a patient and a therapist, even asking mundane questions like what his favorite colors were and what kind of shower products he used. Though, honestly, after months of hospitalization and physical therapy and regular therapy, Rhys kind of welcomed the departure from the more clinical manner. It made him feel normal again, which was a sensation that had largely escaped him ever since the accident.

He came home to his apartment with a smile on his face and a refreshed spring in his step. Maybe he was being crazy, but he almost felt  _physically_  better after one of his hypnotherapy sessions, as well as emotionally. His brain felt quicker, less bogged down with worry, and hell even his reaction time was better as he tossed his keys back and forth between both hands, before tossing the key expertly on the hook by the door. He smiled and pumped his fist a little, before shedding his jacket and clipping off to the kitchen.

He cleaned and chopped some vegetables and meat, starting the crock pot up for some stew. A pleased smile spread across his face as the ingredients began to cook, filling the entire apartment with a wonderful savory smell. He didn’t even remember the last time he’d been able to cook himself, rather than just somberly begging Vaughn to cook some dinner or shuffling into the kitchen to limply microwave some frozen entree.

Sadly, it wasn’t long before his stump started acting up, pain lancing through his shoulder and chest and making Rhys’ nearly drop the spoon. Wincing, he set the utensil aside and rubbed his shoulder underneath the fabric of his shirt. With a frown he set a timer on his phone, and decided it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick bath until dinner was ready.

Baths had become Rhys’ (second) best friend in the months since the accident, giving him not only a nice warm soak that helped to soothe his muscles, but also a calm moment to be alone and let the anxiety and tension melt away. Honestly, it was similar to how he felt whenever he was in a session with Dr. Lawrence, that same feeling of calm and warmth that settled into his body when he let himself listen to the unctuous tenor of the therapist’s voice.

He quickly disrobed, pulling his T-shirt up and over his head and letting his jeans and boxers fall to the floor in a pile, long legs stepping out of it and quickly sliding into the pale green warmth of the bath. He let out a pleased sigh, quickly sinking in all the way, submerging his shoulder and soothing the slight ache thrumming in the stump of his arm. As soon as he got comfortable, he reached over to the small bottle of shower gel, the pleasant smell of rosemary and lemongrass wafting into his nose as he opened it up and drizzled some of the honey-gold lotion onto his palm. He smiled as he rubbed the gel between his fingers, before running it luxuriantly over his body, the smell of it settling deeper into his nose and making his brain go all fuzzy and relaxed. He massaged his stump, loosening the muscles there before both hands went down his body, palm sliding effortlessly over his skin in a way that made him shiver suddenly. He suddenly felt a warm tingling brewing in his stomach, spreading slowly downwards as his hand pressed over his body to his groin. Rhys bit his lip, hesitating briefly, before reaching between his spread legs to grasp at his submerged cock. His chest hitched at the touch, a little noise coming from his lips as he started to stroke himself off.

Rhys had been too jittery and anxious to do anything like this all that frequently in the months since the accident, only jerking himself off in an effort to distract himself from tight panic in his chest, but this time felt different. This time, Rhys was doing it because he  _wanted_  to, because he was feeling calm and relaxed enough for the first time in so long. He moaned at the tingling feeling of the remaining lotion on his hand rubbing against the shaft of his cock. He bit his lip, closing his eyes softly as his hips shifted up into his hand.

Rhys suddenly thought about someone else’s hands on him, for once not concerned with how they would react to the missing arm and map of scar tissue over his shoulder. He imagined giving in to warm, trustworthy palms, rubbing along his hips before stroking softly over his cock. He parted his legs slightly, imagining someone spreading his thighs as they stroked him off, rubbing along his long legs with a broad, tanned palm graced with a pretty, thick silver ring—

 _Silver ring_? Rhys scrunched his face slightly at the unexpected image, but it wasn’t a bad one at all. In fact, the more Rhys dwelled on the thought of a hand decorated in a pretty, thick silver band rubbing up and down his thighs, the more he liked it. He felt warm and heavy in fantasy, the water wrapping him up like a cocoon and weighing his body down until all he could focus on was the steady touch of his hand and the daydream sinking into his brain as he stroked himself off.

The hand with the ring gave way to a long forearm, bare and corded with muscle, the slight dusting of brown hair crawling up towards the slight bend of an elbow. Soon another hand came into play—this one with a wrist ringed in a blue tattoo Rhys had seen in passing, in shards of memory, and a gasp stole from his lips as he realized just  _who_  he was fantasizing about.

To his surprise it was his therapist, Dr. Lawrence, who arched over him in his mind’s eye, his hair damp and curled as if he was in the bath  _with_  Rhys. Beads of moisture dripped down his face as he fixed Rhys with a sultry, steely stare, and though Rhys had been seeing Mr. Lawrence for awhile now, he was not sure whether he has ever noticed the vibrant differences between the green and blue of his eyes, or how long the silvery scar on his face extended down towards his jawline, or the slight stubble prickling on his chin and upper lip—

Little moans tugged from his lips as his hand clumsily sped up, all other movements languid as he writhed in the warmth of the bathwater, the distant smell of his lotion sharpening the fantasies of Jack, to the point where Rhys’ swore he could feel the careful, velvety press of those dusty rose lips alone his collarbone. He gasped aloud as Mr. Lawrence bit down, and it felt so  _real_  that Rhys half expected to find bite marks on his skin later on, but he hardly cared about that when his orgasm was sweeping towards him on a wave of citrus and rosemary. He squeezed his cock tightly as the image of Mr. Lawrence pressed up against him, and Rhys swore he could feel another heartbeat through his skin, thrumming through the water as he sensed lips moving against his neck.

_“You can come now, Rhysie.”_

Rhys’ orgasm floodede over him, eyes shooting open with a strangled cry as his hips jerked upwards, body seizing up and splashing against the surface of the water as he cam. He panted and gasped, stunned and disoriented in the broken calm, his release bubbling up in the foamy water as he clawed abortively out, expecting to find Mr. Lawrence still arched over him,  _talking_  to him, but he found absolutely nothing except hot mist from the bath hanging in the air. He took in deep, trembling lungfuls of breath, feeling like he had just resurfaced from a long swim underwater as he glanced about nervously, shaken at how  _real_  that fantasy had felt, not to mention how he had been jerking it to the thought of his therapist, who, no doubt, attractive  _enough_  but…

But Rhys was going to Mr. Lawrence in the first place for  _help_  and jerking off to him was really, super unprofessional and would fuck up the good thing he had going and  _god_  Rhys won’t be able to look his therapist in the eye for the entirety of their next session. So he drained the tub, rising on shaky legs and quickly rubbing any remainder of his release off his skin before pulling his clothes back on. He shook his head, idly combing his hair with his fingers as he opened the door to the smell of cooking meat and vegetables, which quickly put all thoughts of masturbating to his therapist out of his brain as he shut the bathroom door behind him and went off to the kitchen to eat.


End file.
